


Born Of The Greatest Of Wishes

by Mirime



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Identity Issues, alter ego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-01
Updated: 2012-10-01
Packaged: 2017-11-15 10:44:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/526431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirime/pseuds/Mirime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark has been dead for years and her family has moved on. However, when a famed masked singer Summer Bird is asked to entertain at the betrothal feast for Jon Targaryen and Arya Stark, old memories and feelings resurface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born Of The Greatest Of Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Stark Naked contest on LJ gameofships comm. The title is taken from Nightwish's song Beauty of the Beast. Post-series future fic, somewhat different from my other works. The prompt was: Write your own song

"They said His Grace has invited that new singer to sing at the court tomorrow."

"Oh, I have heard so much about her. She always wears a mask but her voice is supposed to be divine!"

The singer who was the centre of that gossip drew her hood deeper into her face. This was her first visit to King's Landing in years. She would have gladly stayed away for longer but with the repute she had gained, it would be suspicious for her to avoid the capital. And she was no longer the girl she had been during her last stay. She was now a woman grown and long freed from the game of thrones. There had been a time when she had considered becoming a player - her false father had indeed been grooming her for that - but one night the bastard girl had woken up and been the lonely high born lady again and she hadn't been able to stand being a part of those intrigues any more.

And so she had left the relative safety of the Vale and set out on her own, letting Alayne take charge for a while but Sansa had never been gone long, either. It had been Alayne during the day and Sansa during the night and somewhere along the way, after the money she had taken had dried up, she had become the Summer Bird, a singer. It had been the only way to earn her bread honestly. She had fashioned herself a full-face mask decorated with feathers, adding to the intrigue. Little by little, her fame had grown and she had found herself enjoying the simple life of a court singer.

When the war had been finally over, she had considered revealing herself to Lord Hightower, who had been her host during the last phases of the new Targaryen conquest, but in the end she had decided against it. She had learned of her brothers' survival, she had heard about Arya's return from beyond the Narrow Sea, she had been glad for Jon when he had been revealed as Rhaegar's son and legitimized as the new king's brother. But that was it. They had survived, they had been doing well, they had had no need of her any more and Sansa had allowed herself to be forgotten.

There had also been another consideration to take into an account. The new king would have needed a noble-born wife, preferably from one of the old families, to better stabilize his reign. And Sansa revealing herself would have been too opportune to miss. Never mind she might have come to like the young and by all accounts handsome and wise king. She had been done with being the seal of an alliance, the handy claim to the North's loyalty. She had built herself a life with her voice and her own songs and she hadn't been about to give it up, not when she had finally become her own person.

But the war had been over for years and Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name and so on, had a lovely wife who had already born him a son and Sansa Stark had been claimed dead and Summer Bird, a singer with a feathered mask, was so famous that the nobility of King's Landing couldn't go any longer without hearing her perform at last.

The rumour had it that the Black Snow, as Jon had become known, was finally to be married. The Wall had been repaired and stood high and proud and there was no more reason for him to delay his duty to the nearly extinguished Targaryen family. His betrothal feast was the reason for Summer Bird's summons to the Red Keep. She was to sing in front of the king and his family, some of whom had been Sansa's family a long time ago. She would have to make sure her mask was as concealing as usual.

* * *

It was with a certain trepidation that Summer Bird descended from the palanquin sent to her inn to pick her up and entered the Red Keep. It seemed as if every hallway she passed sparked another memory from years ago. Her guide, the master of ceremonies, didn't notice her distraction as he was talking about how she would perform after the third course and then again after the seventh but Summer Bird barely heard him. She was shown to her place at one of the lower tables set up in the large ballroom and she stood up with the rest of people as the king walked in, his pretty wife at his side, followed by his aunt and then the betrothed couple - Jon Targaryen and his cousin Arya Stark.

Seeing them walk in side by side, Summer Bird understood the nastier rumours flying around the inns. Dark-haired, long-faced and grey-eyed, they could have passed for twins and the various jabs about the Black Snow's family tastes running deep in his blood suddenly made sense. Summer Bird kept her eyes on them for so long she almost missed the entrance of the two remaining Starks. Lord Brandon and Lord Rickon, the Cripple and the Wildling. Strange how the public had such - usually less than flattering - names for most nobles. Summer Bird ignored the rest of the procession and the start of the feast entirely, thinking for the first time in years that she might have chosen wrongly when she had decided to cast off Sansa and her past. She was free, yes, but she was also lonely. She couldn't confide in anyone because she couldn't trust anyone.

Those grim thoughts engaged her through the first three courses and she barely paid attention to the food on her plate. When the meat was taken away, she stood up, smoothing out the long green dress, made sure her feathered mask was in place and covering the majority of her face and she walked out into the free space before the high table. She curtseyed, her manners still impeccable and waited for the king's leave to start. Aegon nodded and she strummed her harp, playing the opening chords to Dragons Reborn - a song composed to honour the current ruling family.

She sang of Queen Dowager Daenerys, the Mother of Dragons, and her long journey from an exile to a queen. She sang of Aegon the Griffin King, saved from a death and raised in a faraway land to one day assume the throne his father had been meant to sit. She sang of Jon the Black Snow, the bastard who rose first to be the Lord Commander of the Night Watch and then, after his death and resurrection, still dedicated his life to the rebuilding of the Wall. It was a song she had composed for this very occasion and she could see it was well received by her attentive audience.

It was during the last notes of the song that Summer Bird allowed herself to look beyond the Starks and Targaryens at the high table. There was her erstwhile husband, Lord Tyrion Lannister, once again the Hand of the King. Ser Barristan Selmy, splendid in the white armour and cloak he must have been born to wear. Lord Baelor Hightower, her patron of many years and the one who must have recommended her to the king. Princess Arianne of Dorne who had almost learned Summer Bird's secrets during her stay in Sunspear. And then, behind the High Septon, half-shrouded in shadows, stood a figure from her dreams.

Summer Bird was glad that she had practised the song as vigorously as she had because the moment she saw Sandor Clegane standing at attention behind the High Septon's chair, Sansa Stark lurched into the forefront of her mind and only her fingers remembering their trained motion saved her from an abrupt and disharmonious end to the song. Shaken as she was, she still finished properly and took a bow, more grateful for her mask than ever.

She went back to her seat and sank down on the bench, grateful for the wine her neighbour poured for her.

“Thank you,” she told the man, a minor noble sworn to the Storm's End if she remembered her heraldic lessons correctly.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he complimented her and she nodded regally, keeping her manner aloof and disinterested. He took the hint and turned the other way while Sansa tried to figure out why Sandor Clegane's appearance distraught her so much. She had heard about him, of course. The fearsome Hound finding faith and representing the Church in Queen Cersei's trial by combat, facing off against Ser Robert Strong who had been believed to be Gregor Clegane raised from death by necromancy.

He had disappeared from the public eye after his victory against the monster and Sansa had stopped hoping she would ever find out what had happened to him. And there he was, standing guard at the feast she had almost not attended. How many years had it been? Six? Eight? She wasn't sure. He hadn't changed much, unlike her. Did he think about her sometimes? Or was that night in her room and his kiss just something he had put out of his mind as soon as he had left the city?

She didn't know. She wouldn't know unless she asked him and since he had no reason to suspect it was her under the mask and she couldn't just walk up to him and reveal herself, not for a flimsy reason like that, it would most likely remain unanswered.

She missed him, she realized. She had always missed him after he had been gone and she had been left alone and that missing had turned into the kind of an unfulfilled longing that had been pleasant to dwell on during long nights as she tended her bitter-sweet romance like the last treasure left from a wealth of memories. She had even written a song about them, one she had never sung, keeping it for herself and playing it only when she was completely sure she was alone.

She looked up at the high table, found his face among the many and came to a decision. Once upon a time he had asked her to trust her life into his hands. Once upon a time she had been too afraid to do so. Maybe it wasn't a coincidence he was here. Maybe the fate had brought them together to finally get some closure, to answer the questions left behind along with the bloody white cloak.

When the seventh course was cleared away, Sansa stood up and let Summer Bird take the lead again. She would sing traditional ballads this time, songs about famous lovers, a fitting theme for a betrothal feast.

She opened with Florian and Jonquil and had to smile at her sister's disgusted expression. Arya had always thought the titular lovers had been stupid for taking so long to admit their feelings for each other. But it was expected as one of the most famous love ballads and Summer Bird liked the song so she sang with an enthusiasm rarely seen in a singer in regards to the song. The song about Serwyn of the Mirror Shield and Princess Daeryssa was another popular one. So was Jenny of the Oldstones and the Prince of Dragonflies. Upon finishing that one, Summer Bird knelt down, looking at the betrothed couple.

“Your Grace, my lady,” she started and the ballroom went silent. “It might be presumptuous of me to ask this of you, but I have a song in my repertoire I have never sung. I never found the right audience and I would consider it a great honour if you would allow me to sing it for you.”

Arya leaned forward, her interest clearly picked.

“What is the song about?”

“Love, my lady. Love that never came to be. Love that formed between a high-born lady and a warrior who would never be a knight. Love that went unacknowledged and unsung for years. Love that hurt and helped. Love that was all love should be and nothing at the same time.”

Sansa made Summer Bird stop before she revealed too much. She could see every person in the room turn to her, she could feel their eyes watching her, curious about her words.

“We would be honoured to listen to your song,” Jon was the one who spoke this time and Summer Bird stood up gracefully.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

She plucked at her harp to make sure it was still tuned properly and then struck the simple beginning melody.

_There was a pretty lady once_  
Who lost her freedom to cruel lies  
Like a trapped bird she tried to sing  
To please her captor, the cruel king  
How that had come to end I know  
Come, sit and listen to my words 

It went from there, the whole story told in metaphors. She sang of the night when Sansa had learned the secret behind the Hound's scars. She sang of his tender touch when he had wiped away her blood. She sang of his lie to the king on her behalf, of the talk they had had on the serpentine stairs ( _so I would gladly die for you but never ever lie to you_ ), of how he had rescued her during the riot and finally, she came to sing about their last night together. Summer Bird had felt Sandor's eyes on her from the moment she mentioned _the story of his pain_ and she was sure he had figured her identity out.

_“I could keep you safe,” he promised her_  
“Kill all who would touch you improper,  
the only price - you'd have to bear  
to look at me, my little bird fair.”  
But scared by fire-lit sky outside,  
she couldn't do that and closed her eyes.  
In his anger he pulled a knife,  
“Sing, little bird. Sing for your life.” 

_It was a Mother's hymn that poured out forth_  
soothed the fury of his soul.  
And then she raised her gentle hand,  
found tears that with her own would blend.  
She cupped his cheek, then he kissed her  
They both knew it was their farewell. 

Summer Bird paused, looking directly at him as she let the notes fall away and spoke the last unrhymed words of the song.

“That night he took from her a song and a kiss and left behind nothing but a bloody cloak.”

She bowed to indicate she was done and it took a few moments before that fact settled in the minds of her listeners and they started to clap. She could understand their confusion. There was no real ending to the song. The lovers should have met up again at least once or she could have put in a line how they both died before that reunion. But like this, the song appeared unfinished.

“What a strange ending,” Tyrion Lannister commented. “Did they not meet again?”

“No,“ Summer Bird replied to him. “They both died but the song was sad enough without putting that in. This way, the listeners can imagine that maybe there was a happy ending after all.”

“An interesting concept, a singer who does not wish to make his listeners sad.”

“The world is sad enough as it is, my lord. Why add suffering to the things that are supposed to take the mind off of the reality?”

Tyrion tipped his goblet to her.

“Well spoken, my lady.”

She sang two more songs after, both of them well-known and she quietly took her leave after. Upon entering the outer courtyard, some instinct made her turn to the serpentine stairs. She had already been paid and there was enough people milling about that she passed relatively unnoticed. Her heart was beating fast as she descended the steep stairs, well lit this time and upon reaching the bottom, she almost ran into the godswood, only to be disappointed at its emptiness.

She trudged up the stairs again but as she passed an alcove, something moved in the shadows created by the torches and a large hand clamped down on her upper arm.

“Well met, little bird,” a gruff voice spoke into her ear and she smiled as she reached up to take her mask off.

“Well met, indeed.”

“I thought you were dead,” he said as if accusing her and she shrugged.

“A lot of people had died.“

“Many of them didn't have the things you have to come back to.”

Summer Bird looked down, unsure if he would be able to understand.

“I wanted to be free. Something I could never be as Sansa Stark. As Summer Bird, I can go wherever I want and do anything. I love my freedom and I don't want to give it up.”

“Then why would you sing that song? You saw me in there. You must have known I would recognize you.”

“I was lonely,” she admitted. “And I missed you.”

“So you wrote a song about us and you even put in a kiss,” he rasped. "I would have thought you had ceased to believe in made-up tales."

She frowned. Put in a kiss? What was he talking about?

“I did not put in a kiss. You did kiss me that night in my room.”

It was his turn to look puzzled.

“I never kissed you.”

Sansa, because she was Sansa now, with every part of her being, looked up at him, not nearly so far as she used to, and shook her head decisively.

“I dreamt about that kiss for years. I dreamt about you for years. It must have happened.”

“I'm telling you it never did.”

She stepped away from him, suddenly scared. She had thought, she had hoped, that him being here meant he had felt the same, that he had never forgotten her. But if the kiss hadn't been real, none of his feelings were real. She had imagined them all, fitted them into her nice little fantasy and made up a song about them. How foolish that was? Had she not grown at all?

“I am sorry,” she whispered and turned around to leave. He stopped her before she took a single step forward.

“What are you doing?”

“I am leaving,” she said as if that was obvious. “I do not want to bother you anymore.”

“You're not bothering me, little bird.”

“Stop it!” she screamed suddenly. She had hidden her feelings for so long that his revelation had shaken her to the core and pushed Alayne forth. “Stop calling me little bird and stop acting like you care about me! If you never kissed me, then you never loved me and I have been a fool to think otherwise.”

The look he gave her reminded her of the years past, when he had been the scariest man she had ever met. It was the look that stripped away all of her defenses, leaving her nothing but her honesty to counter his cruel words. And then he stepped closer, towering over her and he grasped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes and she thought he would order her to look at him, like he had done in the past.

“Kissing you would mean that I love you?” he rasped instead and she managed the tiniest nod before he pressed his mauled lips against her soft ones and replaced her false memory with a real one. An eternity or two later they separated and Sansa took a deep breath, the time and place rousing a memory of the words she had come to understand at last.

“Would you like me to sing for you?” she offered but didn't get a chance to do that for a long time yet.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> If the story seems hurried or subpar, I apologize. My inspiration struck at the last moment and I had to hurry to finish this story before the set deadline. I might revisit it at a later time but for all its imperfections, I still like the finished product quite a lot.


End file.
